Wilt Thou Be Mine?
by MargyW
Summary: When Anderson calls Sherlock names, the outcome is not what anyone expected. JOHNLOCK. Established relationship. Rated T for Men smooching and scattered swear words.


**Crime Scene - Morning**

Anderson sneered as Sherlock approached the crime scene. "Oh look, it's Curlylocks again."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and sniffed derisively. "Can't even get my name right now, Anderson?"

Anderson opened his mouth to retort. John stepped in front of him. "Leave it," he snapped. John turned to Sherlock. "Crime scene. That way?"

"But Anderson…"

"I'll explain what he was getting at later."

Sherlock sniffed again, then headed to join Lestrade behind the crime scene tape.

John turned back briefly to the forensic technician. "What are you, Anderson? Six years old? Grow up!" He stalked after his boyfriend leaving a mumbling Anderson behind him.

**221B Baker Street - Early Afternoon**

Sherlock was seated in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin in what John considered his thinking position. John was crouched on the floor sorting through a pile of books next to Sherlock's chair. Sherlock had an irritating habit of borrowing John's medical texts and not returning them.

"John," Sherlock's warm baritone rumbled through the room.

"Umm hmmm?"

"You said you would explain Anderson's comment this morning."

"So I did." John rocked back on his heels, placing his hand on the arm of Sherlock's chair to steady himself. He began to recite the old nursery rhyme that Anderson had quoted:

"Curlylocks, Curlylocks, wilt thou be mine?

Thou shall not tend the cattle, nor yet feed the swine,

But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,

And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked down at John. John felt an odd twinge in his chest. Sherlock leaned forward, his breath warm on John's face. "Oh, that is so clever, John. I didn't know you had it in you."

"What?"

"To use Anderson to set up a marriage proposal. I am impressed. And I accept."

Sherlock leaned in closer, covering John's mouth in a warm, luscious kiss. John's brain imploded. Marriage proposal? He hadn't meant that. It was a nursery rhyme, that's all. As all the neurons in his brain fired at once, John gave up thinking.

Sherlock let him go and leaped to his feet with a wide grin. He ran for the door, "Mrs Hudson! MRS HUDSON!"

John collapsed on his backside on the floor and shook his head ruefully. He pulled out his mobile phone and texted.

**_Your brother has gone insane – JW_**

_**This is something new? – MH**_

_**BTW, congratulations on your forth coming nuptials – MH**_

_**Bastard! – JW**_

From downstairs John could hear Mrs Hudson's squeal as Sherlock told her the news. She raced up the stairs as fast as her dodgy hip would let her. John was just getting to his feet when she came hurtling into the room. She grabbed him in a hard embrace, almost knocking him arse over teakettle. "Oh I am so happy for you both." She gave John a naughty smile and slapped his upper arm, "And to think you could be such a romantic, using a nursery rhyme to propose. That is so sweet."

Sherlock's mobile phone tweeted. "It's Lestrade. Our killer has struck again. Close to here. Come on, John."

Sherlock grabbed his coat and whisked out of the flat like a black-clad, curly-haired, whirlwind. John followed in his wake.

**A Street Near Regent's Park – Mid Afternoon**

"Thanks for coming. This guy is really upping the ante." Lestrade sighed.

"Give the details to my fiancé, Lestrade, I'll take a look at the body." Sherlock disappeared under the crime scene tape.

"Fiancé?" Lestrade's eyebrows shot skywards as if they were jet propelled.

"I accidentally proposed marriage about an hour ago. And he accepted."

"I see." Gregory Lestrade really did see. If anyone was going to get hold of the wrong end of the human interpersonal relationships stick, it was going to be Sherlock Holmes.

"The thing is, Greg, the more I think about it, the more I find myself liking the idea of spending the rest of my life with Sherlock."

"Uh huh." Lestrade grinned. "What happened to your much acclaimed heterosexuality?"

"It's a little bit like the Loch Ness Monster."

"What?"

John couldn't hide his grin. "It hasn't been seen in ages and may very well be a myth."

Lestrade roared with laughter. He clapped John on the back. "Well, congratulations. Let me know when you open a gift register."

The two men ducked under the perimeter tape and headed towards where the body had been found.

The body was there, but Sherlock wasn't. Anderson stood beside the corpse, a nasty smirk on his face.

John looked around, feeling deeply uneasy. No Sherlock. "Greg," his voice was soft, "If Anderson has said anything to hurt Sherlock, to cause him to run away, I will fucking kill him."

Lestrade's tone was grim. "I'll help you."

He marched over to the smirking forensic technician. "Where is Sherlock Holmes?" he asked quietly.

Anderson laughed unpleasantly. "Run away in a sulk."

"Why?"

"Stupid bastard actually thought I'd helped arrange a marriage proposal. I soon put him right."

John whirled around. "Where did he go?"

Anderson shrugged. "As I said, he ran off to sulk. Why should I care?"

Lestrade's tone was calm and level. "Why should you care? You'll care because I fucking well care! Return to the Yard. You have insulted a duly invited consultant. That alone requires disciplinary action." Lestrade stopped to draw a breath. He glared at the white-faced Anderson. "Get out of my sight, you nasty little shit!" Anderson turned tail and ran.

John looked around desperately. Where had Sherlock gone? He ran up the nearest alley way to the main road. He could hear Lestrade screaming behind him. Others were copping the fallout from Anderson's attitude.

John's mobile phone chirped. He pulled it out:

_**Go to your right. He's headed for Regent's Park – MH**_

Thrusting his phone back into his pocket, John turned right and ran.

Running frantically through the streets of London wasn't much fun when you're alone, John decided. He stopped inside the gates of Regent's Park to draw breath.

He leaned against the gates, gazing around for some sign of Sherlock. John was almost at the point of reaching for his mobile to text Mycroft, when he spotted his love. Sherlock was slumped on a park bench, under a tree, curled in miserably on himself.

John crossed to the bench and stood close in front of Sherlock.

"Sherlock."

"Go away!" Sherlock's voice was flat.

"Nope. Not going."

"I made an idiot of myself. You don't love me. You don't want to marry me."

"Nope again."

John leaned forward, resting one hand on the arm of the park bench. With the other he reached for Sherlock's face. He stroked a finger along Sherlock's left cheekbone. "I will admit that the proposal was accidental. However, the more I think about it, the more I want you to be my husband."

Sherlock's eyes were pearlescent with tears. "No. You don't."

"Allow me to know what I want, Sherlock." John leaned forward until Sherlock's lips were a bare inch from his. He whispered softly, "Sherlock, Sherlock, wilt though be mine?" He closed the slight distance and claimed Sherlock's mouth with his own.

John tried to show Sherlock just how much he loved him with that single kiss. Every fibre of his being transmitted signals though his lips and tongue to the mouth of that remarkable, beautiful, crazy man that John had come to love so dearly.

Hesitantly, Sherlock responded, his mouth moving beneath John's. Eventually he broke the kiss. Sherlock gazed up at John; his emotions blazing in his eyes. "You really do love me."

"I told you that, you stupid git. And if you tell me you're not going to marry me, I'll do you for breach of promise." John's smile was like the sun.

Shyly, Sherlock smiled back. John stepped back, offering his hands to haul Sherlock from the seat.

Fingers entwined, the two men left the park.

In his office in Whitehall, Mycroft watched with a small smile the CCTV footage of Sherlock and John walking away. He drew out his notebook and wrote – open gift register at Harrods. Then he frowned and hit a button on his phone.

"Anthea. See if Brutus and Cassius are free. There is someone who needs…" Mycroft paused, looking for the right words, "…a good talking to."

**Early Next Morning**

John's mobile on the bedside table chirped a text alert. Grumbling, he reached for it.

_**Just thought you'd like to know that Anderson's been abducted. – GL**_

_**Who the fuck would want to abduct Anderson? – JW**_

_**Anderson dragged crying and screaming from Donovan's bed around 2 this morning. 2 well dressed blokes in a black car, accompanied by a woman with a blackberry – GL**_

John looked up from his phone. "Your brother abducted Anderson this morning."

Sherlock sleepily raised his head from where it had been resting on John's shoulder. "Thought Mycroft had more taste."

John chuckled. "Dragged him out of Donovan's bed."

"Oh God. A naked Anderson is more than I want to contemplate at this time of the morning."

"Naked?"

"You did say they dragged him from Donovan's bed. I doubt they were fully clad."

"Good point." John put his phone down on the bedside table. "I guess Mycroft just wanted to let him know that picking on his little brother was not a good idea."

Sherlock was shaking with laughter.

"What?"

"Can you imagine it? Anderson dragged naked and terrified to visit a sinister man with an umbrella."

John giggled. "Probably in some ice cold, damp, smelly warehouse in a deserted area, and warned never to hurt Sherlock Holmes again on pain of dismemberment."

"Anderson probably wet himself."

Both men were giggling when John's phone chirped again. John fumbled with it.

_**Consider this my wedding present to you both – MH**_

The phone chirped a second time.

_**Anderson has the bladder control of a badly toilet trained two year old – MH**_

**Author's Note: It's amazing what comes out of text conversations with a friend on Saturday nights. I would like to thank Andrea for the plot bunny...and Benedict Cumberbatch for having such amazing and inspiring curls.**


End file.
